Clay
by Eclectic Butterfly
Summary: Prequel to my 2016 story, The Firstborn's Wife. Clay has left the Ponderosa and is making his way...well, as far away as he can get. Only, he doesn't get that far. Instead, he meets Maybelle Edwards, and everything changes.


_Prequel to my 2016 story, The Firstborn's Wife. I'm posting it as a long oneshot instead of dividing it into chapters. I've had this floating on my computer for a while and am glad to finally have it finished. Enjoy!_

* * *

Adjusting his hat, Clay Stafford sent a glance around him. There was nothing but the sky and a few trees to be seen. The sun beat down on him, and he raised his canteen to his mouth. Once he knocked back a small portion of his thirst, he recapped the canteen and tied it back in its place.

Resisting the urge to sigh, he nudged his mount back into motion. He'd put several miles behind him, but there were hundreds more to go in front of him if he intended on making it to Mexico.

"Mexico," he said aloud as he shook his head.

He wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to go back to Mexico. It had been a place to talk about, to glamorize and exaggerate to impress his only brother. Sure, he'd been sincere about his willingness to see it with his brother, but without Joe...well, there just wasn't any appeal save for being a destination.

Strange how quickly it had taken to have his outlook on life changed. And it was all thanks to his little brother. Joseph Cartwright was a force of nature and had been willing to give up the rest of his family to follow Clay wherever he led.

And Clay had little doubt that the life he was accustomed to living would have destroyed Joe in no time. Their mother would have turned over in her grave if she'd known. So he'd pushed his brother away, said the most hurtful things he could to save Joe.

Reminded of his brother's parting gift, Clay pulled out the small portrait. He had vague memories of his mother, most tainted by the venom of his now dead grandmother. To see the face of the woman who, he had been told, loved and mourned him, shamed him as much as he was happy to have the portrait.

It wasn't enough to have saved Joe from a bad life. If he didn't make something of himself, he'd be failing his mother. Of course, he had no real idea how he would do that.

Chuckling without any real amusement, he put the photo back into his pocket and focused on the horizon. "Wherever I'm headed, I'm going to need money to get there," he said, even though he knew there was no one to hear him. "Hopefully there's a town up ahead and a card game to join."

Cards were, after all, the one thing he was good at.

* * *

Breathing out, Mabelle Edwards pushed her bonnet back and rubbed the back her hand against her forehead as she straightened up. She felt the grit of dirt remain on her skin, but couldn't muster up the energy to do anything about. In front of her, the field stretched seemingly without end, although she knew it was only an acre.

"Come along, May," John Edwards said from the edge of the field. "We've got to get this planted before the rain comes."

A frustrated groan in her throat, Mabelle shielded her eyes and glanced at the sky. "I wish it would rain. Then, maybe it would cool off some," she said, knowing she spoke too low for her father to hear her.

"May! Time's a wastin.'"

"Yes, Daddy," Mabelle shouted back. She took a deep breath and set the mule moving with a slap of the reins. She clung to the wood handles of the plow as it began to move. Her steps were barely better than stumbles and she struggled tried to keep the plow going in a straight line.

Though she knew it would only be a waste of her breath, Mabelle muttered under her breath as she worked. In all her twenty-five years, the purchase of the farm had to be her father's most harebrained notion, especially since he seemed to have no interest in working the land himself. And if the farm was to be a success, someone had to work.

So work Mabelle did. "I'm not going another step further into this territory if I can help it, and if that means plowing this field, well this is going to be the best-plowed field anyone has ever seen," she said aloud.

Sweat was running down her face when she made it once again to the far end of the farm. It was a chore in itself to get the mule turned around and back into place. Mabelle glanced at the sun, judging how far the afternoon had gone. She had the evening meal to prepare, and she knew how cranky her father could get if he had to wait for his food.

Reminded of her father, Mabelle peered to the side of the field where he'd been 'fixing' some piece of equipment. He appeared to be sitting against a tree with his hat over his face. Once again, the young woman began muttering as she started another row.

"An obedient daughter does as she's told. An obedient daughter doesn't complain. An obedient daughter shouldn't stand up for herself. She ought to just work herself to death, and then she'd still be accused of being lazy."

By the time she reached the opposite end of the field, her knees were wobbly. She sent a glance towards where her father had been napping. That's when she saw a strange horse and rider by the tree, and her father was on his feet.

Hoping the man, whoever he was, would ride on, Mabelle began the task of unhitching the plow from the mule. "Come on, Daisy," she said, curling her fingers around the halter. "I'm sure you want your supper as much as I do."

With it being so late in the day, it wasn't difficult to coax the mule back to the barn. Mabelle got the animal settled, groomed, and fed before she headed for the house. She hauled up a bucket of water from the well and used the cool liquid to wash the dirt from her face.

Feeling a little refreshed, she went up the steps and into the kitchen. She opened the kitchen window and the back door to let the wind blow through. It wasn't much, but it did cool the room down slightly.

Humming the melody of _Annie Lawry_ , Mabelle began to give the ingredients for the meal. She expected her father to wander in at any minute, ready for his evening meal and with criticism of how little had been accomplished.

To her surprise, though, she had both salted pork and potatoes frying before she heard the sound of footsteps outside the door. When she turned, she saw that her father wasn't alone. "Daddy?" she asked, eyeing the tall, dark-haired stranger who'd invaded her kitchen.

"Mabelle, this is Mr. Clay Stafford," her father said. "I've hired him on to help around the farm."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Edwards," Mr. Stafford said, removing his hat. He gave a smile that no doubt was meant to be charming. "I can see this comes as a surprise. I hope our arrangement won't inconvenience you in any way."

His polite manner and formal words were even more of a surprise than his sudden appearance. "Any man who's willing to help out is more than welcome," Mabelle said with caution. "I don't think I've seen you around these parts. What brings you to our part of the land?"

"Just passing through," he said with ease, although there was a flash of emotion in his dark brown eyes. "I'm on my way to Mexico, but a man has to have some money to get there."

Just what kind of wage had her father agreed on? Mabelle glanced at her father, who was looking pleased with himself. "See, Mabelle?" he said with obvious satisfaction. "I told you things would work out. Now, how long before supper. You have two hungry men to feed."

"I'll put my horse up and wash up," Mr. Stafford said. He nodded once towards Mabelle and then retreated from the room.

"Well? Hurry up, girl!"

"I'm not a girl anymore," Mabelle objected as she turned to the stove. It wasn't the first time she'd objected to being called "girl" and it was clearly not going to be the last. "Where are we supposed to find the money to pay for a hired hand? We barely have enough to keep ourselves in supplies and I know Mr. Johnson in town won't extend us credit for much longer."

"You worry too much."

Spinning around, Mabelle put her hands on her hips. "Daddy, one of us needs to worry about these things! You promised me we would make this work." She made sure to keep her voice down, not wanting her voice to travel to the barn. "If this farm is going to do anything, we have to be frugal and do the work ourselves."

Her father stepped over and patted her shoulder. "I know you've done the best you can, but you have to admit you've not done well in the field. The kitchen is where you ought to focus your attention since I think you're burning the potatoes."

With that said, he went into the other room. Frustrated, Mabelle let out a huff and rushed to salvage her meal. Sometimes there was just no reasoning with her father.

* * *

Taking his time, Clay was thorough as he got his horse bedded down for the night. "I don't think we'll be here for long, Foret," he said to the faithful animal as he worked. "One day's work ought to get us to the next town where we can find a card game."

It had been a disappointment to ride into town and realize there was no one in the saloon, besides a bored bartender and a woman with too much rouge on her cheeks. They had informed him that there were no card games until Friday night, three days away.

The general store owner had directed him to the Edwards farm, stating the family could do with the help. He hadn't been kidding.

Patting Foret's neck, Clay stepped away from the stall. It was obvious the barn was in disrepair, and it had been disconcerting to watch the Edwards girl struggling with the plow. While it wasn't the first time he'd seen a woman in that position, it was the only time he'd come across an able-bodied man just watching it happen. Edwards had kept him talking, though, and the young woman had headed for the barn.

Clay shook his head. "Don't get involved, Stafford," he muttered. "Earn a day's wage and just move along."

He stepped out of the barn and closed the door, balancing it when it threatened to come off the hinges. At the water trough, he paused long enough to splash his face. It didn't take long to cross the dirt yard to the open kitchen door. The smell of fried ham and potatoes filled his nostrils. For a moment, he paused in the doorway and watched the young woman work.

Her brown hair was escaping her braid. The blue dress she wore was streaked with dirt from the field. "No need to lurk at the door," Mabelle Edwards said, setting a bowl on the table. "Supper, such as it is, is ready."

"Thank you, ma'am," Clay said, removing his hat. "Sure smells good."

She hummed a note of acknowledgment and then rushed out of the kitchen. "Pa, come to the table," she called out. "The food is going to get cold."

Smirking, Clay wondered if she didn't want to be alone with him. A few moments later, Edwards and his daughter returned to the room. "Have a seat, Stafford," the older man invited, pulling out the chair at the one end of the table. "It may not be fancy, but Mabelle is an alright cook."

"Daddy," Mabelle said, a note of annoyed warning in her voice.

"Smells mighty fine to me," Clay said diplomatically. He knew better than to annoy the cook. He took the chair across from Edwards, ensuring Miss Edwards would be right next to him no matter which chair she chose.

Mr. Edwards offered a rather vague blessing and then reached for the bowl of fried potatoes. "Have you come a long way, Stafford?" he asked. It was a question Clay had expected to be asked _before_ he was offered the job.

"Oh, I'd say so," Clay answered. He placed his napkin on his lap.

"Where are you from, Mr. Stafford?" Miss Edwards asked, passing him the plate of ham.

"Everywhere." Clay couldn't resist a smirk at the expression of frustration that appeared on the woman's face. "If you're asking where I was born, that would be New Orleans. My parents are dead now, though, and I have nothing to tie me down."

Edwards chuckled. "A man after my own heart. I've always wanted to visit New Orleans. A man can find opportunities to get ahead in the world there."

The man's daughter pursed her lips and remained silent. "Oh, I think a man can find opportunities to get ahead wherever he is if he has the smarts to see them and take advantage of them," Clay said, fixing his attention on his plate. "After all, you've seen the potential here when someone else might not."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mabelle Edwards look at him quickly. "Not at all," Edwards said, waving his hand. "I tired of hearing May's complaints. She doesn't understand the appeal of travel and exploring new areas."

Again, Miss Edwards' expression gave away her emotions: she disagreed with every word her father said. She clearly wanted to argue but kept her mouth shut. In any event, from outside came the sound of chickens of squawking and the woman stood up quickly.

"Those stupid boys!" she exclaimed. She rushed from the table and went out the door. "Hey! Leave those chickens alone!"

Edwards remained where he was, cheerfully consuming his fried potatoes. "Do you have a problem with thieves getting into the chicken coop?" Clay asked, unsurprised the man hadn't gone to help his daughter. Thieves were not to be trifled with and would have no qualms about harming a defenseless woman.

Not that he thought Mabelle Edwards to be defenseless.

Quite the contrary, she was a strong woman and as tough as they come. She had to be if she had been the only one plowing that field.

"May thinks some of the neighbor boys enjoy frightening her chickens," Edwards said dismissively. "She hasn't quite grasped the knowledge that boys will be boys."  
Clay raised his eyebrow but kept his opinion to himself. Miss Edwards came back in, her face flushed with anger. "I hope you enjoy ham and potatoes because it appears that's what we will be having tomorrow," she said as she sat back down. "My poor chickens will never lay as much as they've been frightened out their mind."

"May, you know you cannot expect two working men to last long on only ham and potatoes."

"There's nothing I can do when the chickens are tormented every evening," Mabelle said, her tone short.

Glancing between them, Clay decided that the sooner he left them and continued on his way, the better.

* * *

With their temporary hand taking up the plow the next morning, Mabelle was able to focus on the sewing she'd agreed to do to earn a little extra money. She'd meant to begin the night before but had been too tired. Still, she had to finish the dress before Mrs. Johnson became impatient.

Her fabric in hand, she went to the small porch and sat down on the rocking chair. As she'd expected earlier that morning, her chickens hadn't laid a single egg overnight. She wasn't sure what she would have done if her father had repeated his complaint from the night when she served ham and potatoes again.

Mr. Stafford hadn't said a word about the meal, save for a compliment on how well it tasted. Maybe he was only glad to have some kind of food.

For several hours, Mabelle took advantage of the morning light. She kept expecting her father to return to the house for a nap, but he didn't. On the other hand, she didn't see him making the needed repairs on the barn either.

When the sun was in the middle of the sky, and the men hadn't appeared for lunch, the young woman set aside her sewing and went to the kitchen. She found an unused basket and filled it with some ham and bread. In a jar, she poured the lemonade she'd made the day before and then added the last of the cookies she'd baked two days previous.

Mabelle carried the lunch out to the field, hoping she would find Mr. Stafford and her father there. "If they've gone to town for a drink," she muttered under her breath.

To her surprise, when she reached the field, Mr. Stafford was plowing with apparent ease with double what she'd accomplished the day before. Even more shocking was the fact that her father was actually repairing the fence. For a moment, she merely stood and stared. Surely, Mr. Stafford wasn't the instigator behind this sudden industriousness, was he?

"May!" her father called out, seeming to be more than happy to put down his hammer. "I had started to think you'd forgotten all about us. What have you brought us for lunch?"

He took the basket from her hand and opened it. He pulled out a sandwich and sat on one of the large rocks to eat it. "It looks like we will have this field ready for planting next year," Mabelle commented, studying how much had been done. Mr. Stafford was nearing the end of his row.

"It will make the farm easier to sell."

The matter of fact statement made Mabelle spin around. "Sell? What do you mean, sell?" she demanded.

"It doesn't seem as though this farm will a profit," her father said as he reached for the jar of lemonade. "I reckon it might be time for you and I to move along, May-girl. I haven't tried my hand at prospecting, you know, and I've heard there is silver to be found up near Virginia City."

There was a choking cough behind them, and Mabelle once again spun around. Mr. Stafford had his hat in his hands. "I think I've worked up an appetite," he said, nodding towards the basket. "Can I hope to get a bite to eat?"

"Of course," Mabelle said, taking a step back so that she wasn't in his way. "You're doing rather well, Mr. Stafford. The field will be finished before I know it."

"Well, I don't have to fight with a skirt as you did," he responded as he stepped over to delve into the basket. "I think by nightfall, I should have it done. What are you planning to plant next year?"

It was a question she'd asked her father on many occasions. However, once again, she didn't get an answer. "I have plenty of time to decide," Edwards said, tilting his hat back. "Can't rush these things, you know."

Gritting her teeth, Mabelle resisted the urge to point out that he'd had a year to decide already. Mr. Stafford merely nodded his head. "You seem to have some good grazing land to the south there," the hand commented, his gaze going to the horizon. "You ever think on maybe making a switch from farming to ranching? You've got a nice place for it."

"Ranching?" Edwards repeated with a laugh. "Can you see Mabelle riding after a bunch of ornery cattle?"

"Daddy," Mabelle said in warning.

"I suppose that would be a sight," Mr. Stafford admitted with a chuckle. "I just thought I'd mention it. There's good money to be had, selling cattle to the miners who need food."

At the mention of 'good money', Mabelle saw her father's eyes light up for a moment. "It might be something worth looking into, " she said. Anything that would keep her father in one place would be more than worth it to her. "Well, I have to ride into town and get some supplies. I'll leave you to your work, gentlemen."

Leaving the basket there, Mabelle set off for the house. She knew the trip to town would mean breaking into her savings, but it was necessary since they needed the food. She'd set aside plenty, though, so she wasn't truly concerned and it would be nice to get away from the farm for a few hours.

Wishing for something stronger, Clay finished off the lemonade. The sun beating down seemed hotter than when he'd been on horseback. He was in no hurry to get back to the plow and the cantankerous mule the Edwards had to pull it.

How was Miss Edwards going to get into town? Walk?

Mr. Edwards had found a tree to stretch out underneath and had his hat covering his face. Somehow, Clay couldn't find himself surprised by that and he headed to where he'd left the mule.

It was mindless work, though backbreaking, and Clay wanted nothing more than to get the job done. What would Joe say if he saw him now? Probably something along the lines of, "You should have stayed."

Shaking his head with a chuckle at the thought, Clay began to plow once again. Edwards himself would probably not appreciate it, but Miss Edwards was another story altogether. As he worked, Clay found his thoughts on the young woman.

She was no striking beauty, though that could be because she had been worked as hard, maybe even harder than, as a man in the field. Her blue eyes, when they were glaring or fatigued, had a sparkle to them. She wasn't too tall or to short, but just the right height. If she were dressed in something other than an old dress, she might even have an eye-catching figure.

Not that he'd noticed or anything.

"Just get the job done and move alone, Stafford," Clay told himself, fighting with the rocky ground. "She's made it clear she doesn't approve of you."  
And she had good reason to disapprove. What kind of a woman would think kindly of a man who'd shown up on her doorstep? Not to mention one who'd done nothing but travel his entire adult life, all too similar to the man who'd raised her.

The plow came to a sudden halt as it hit a rock, and Clay wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing with his life.

* * *

Sunday arrived quicker than Mabelle expected. With no preacher in town, she settled herself on the porch to read her Bible. Her father took the day of rest as an opportunity to visit one of their neighbors. Of their temporary hand, Mr. Stafford, she didn't see any sign.

All the repairs on the barn had been completed, the field had been plowed, and the fences near the house had been repaired. In fact, there were no immediate chores needed to be done, unless Mabelle's father made the decision to expand the farm and plow another field. It was something Mabelle just couldn't imagine her father doing as it would mean more work come spring.

Mr. Stafford would be on his way to wherever he was going.

"Miss Edwards, where might I find your father?"

Lifting her gaze from her bible, Mabelle found Mr. Stafford on the porch steps. Embarrassed that she'd been so lost in her thoughts, and by the direction her thoughts had taken her, she cleared her throat. "I'm afraid he's not here at the moment," she said. She noted how the man was fiddling with his hat in his hands. "You're leaving us?"

"There doesn't seem to be much need for me now," Mr. Stafford answered with a rueful smile, "and I'd like to be on my way."

"Of course," Mabelle said, forcing a smile. "Well, will you at least wait until tomorrow morning? The day is already half over, and you may as well have one last good meal before you get back on the trail."

The man gave a slight laugh. "You make a good point. I've had enough of my own trail cooking to last a lifetime."

"Have you?" Mabelle raised her eyebrow, unsure whether she believed him or not. "If that were really the case, wouldn't you have chosen a place to settle down? Perhaps near family, since that is what most tend to do."

She watched his gaze shift to the side. "True," he acknowledged. "Let's just say that old habits die hard and some past events keep a man running for the rest of his life."

"Please don't say that. I hold out hope that my father has broken the habit at long last." Mabelle kept her tone light. She closed her bible with a sigh. "Of course, I don't think he has if the hints he's been dropping about mining are anything to go by."

"What will you do if he does choose to head for the mining camps?"

It was a question she'd been asking herself. "Well, after everything I've heard about the dangers that come in a mining camp, especially for a woman, I'm not inclined to go with him," she said honestly. "Though I've only been here for a year, this has become my home. Somehow, there has to be a way to make it a success."

Mr. Stafford nodded slowly. "Well, I gave you my opinion. Cattle would thrive here, where crops...well, plants might not take so kindly to the soil."

Reminded of his suggestion about turning the farm into a ranch, Mabelle leaned forward. "Do you really think so? I mean, how expensive would it be to make the transition? How hard is it to run a ranch?"

Instead of being taken aback by her questions, the man let out a laugh. "It depends on the cattle you get," he said, putting his foot on the step and rest his weight against it. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't mean it, Miss Edwards. As to how difficult it would be, I honestly couldn't tell you. It would be like managing anything, I would guess."

With a sigh, Mabelle shook her head and sat back. "We would have to hire on several hands," she said, her tone thoughtful. "And a foreman. Lord knows, my father wouldn't have the patience for the work."

"Perhaps if he knew how much easier it would be to run a ranch rather than a farm."

"I don't think you really mean that," Mabelle said with a light laugh. "Nothing is ever truly 'easier'. There are simply different difficulties involved."  
Mr. Stafford considered her words and then gave a nod. "I suppose that's true. Well, perhaps your father will give it some consideration this winter. Maybe I'll find him if I rode into town and we can enjoy a game of cards."

"Perhaps, but my father is not much of a card player."

The man put his hat back on and tipped the brim to her. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Edwards."

For the life of her, every time she looked back, Mabelle was never sure what came over her. "My friends call me Mabelle, Mr. Stafford."

"And my friends call me Clay."

There was a moment of silence, then Mr. Stafford—Clay—turned and walked away. Breathing out, Mabelle set her rocking chair into motion. "What were you expecting?" she scolded herself.

He'd given her a lot to consider. Mabelle stopped rocking and stood up. It may be Sunday, but there were still things that needed tending. As she went back inside to fetch her sewing basket, though, she couldn't shake the idea of turning the farm into a ranch.

Was it possible?

* * *

For being Sunday, business was lively at the small saloon. It wasn't hard for Clay to start up a card game in the corner of the building. Most of the men were farmers, although a few appeared to be those passing through the area. Near the front of the saloon, Edwards was involved in an intense battle of checkers with the local storekeeper.

It was, to be perfectly honest, a rather tame way to spend a few hours. Still, it was better than fighting with a stubborn mule.

"Better believe it, there is silver just waiting to be grabbed."

The boastful voice caught Clay's attention. As the other card players were not as experienced as him, he shifted some of his focus to the conversation taking place to his left. "I doubt it's as easy as that," one of the other men said.

"There are men who stand in lines to hire on as miners."

That was the truth. Of course, no one ever mentioned how a body was in a dark, dangerous tunnel for hours on end. How a man risked his neck each day just to bring up a little gold or silver. Even if such details were known, who would have listened with their heads full of quick money?

"Stafford, you ever consider mining?" Edwards asked, catching his attention.

Deliberately, Clay studied his cards. "Not for a minute. I like to breathe clean air, Mr. Edwards, and that's a fact. I'll raise."

"I bet if you were there, though, you'd be singing a different tune," the man persisted stubbornly. "Can you imagine just holding a fortune in your hands?"

"If there is any left when you get there," another man called out with a laugh. "Why, I bet everyone for a hundred miles who can go have already gone for the silver."

Though a mildly concerned expression crossed Edwards' face, Clay just shook his head. "Not everyone," he said, thinking of his younger brother.

"How would you know? You been there?"

Clay laid down a full house, earning groans from the men he was playing with. "As a matter of fact, I just came from up around Virginia City," he said, collecting his winnings. He estimated that it, added to his Friday night earnings, would be enough to get him to New Orleans easy, if that was where he intended on going.

"And? Was the place so revolting you fled?" Edwards asked.

Taking the deck of cards, Clay began to shuffle them, using the momentary distraction to collect his thoughts. "It is quite the territory town," he finally said, sensing that his audience was growing impatient. "Yes, many toil away under the ground to get what precious metal they can, but others make their wealth above ground too."

"Like what?" another man challenged.

"Mines need timbering to stay open and keep digging, so there's money in cutting logs and selling them," Clay explained, keeping his eyes on the cards. He began to deal, the cards flying from his fingers with ease. "Of course, the land is mighty hard to come by and no amateur is going to be hired by an outfit already in business.

"Then, there's providing food for the miners."

Derisive laughter met that statement. "Now, I don't mean someplace to sell grub, though there are some fine cooks in business in Virginia City," Clay said, unperturbed. "I'm talking about raising cattle to sell beef. A man willing to put in an honest day's work with an outfit can do well for himself, and not risk life and limb in a mine."

Edwards shook his head, collecting his cards. "You haven't convinced me, Stafford. I still say staking a claim and prospecting is easy money. Now lets play." He held his mug up. "Can I get a refill here?"

* * *

It was well after midnight. Restlessly, Mabelle paced in the kitchen, the frayed edge of her nightgown brushing the floor. Her father had never been out so late since they'd taken on the farm. Mostly because there was nowhere nearby for him to get into trouble.

"He must have had someone new to gab with," she said aloud, hoping she would convince herself by hearing the words. "He's lost track of time. Nothing more. There's no need to think the worst."

A lifetime with the man had taught her otherwise, no matter how much she wished it wasn't true. What was it Clay Stafford had said? 'Old habits died hard, and sometimes a man will run forever.'

Sighing, the young woman collapsed onto the closest chair. A moment later, she heard the sound of off-key singing, coupled with hoofbeats in the yard. She sprang to her feet, snatched up the lantern from the tabletop, and rushed to the door.

As she stepped out onto the porch, she saw Clay Stafford pulling her father to the ground. Both men were laughing, and her father stumbled as he weaved his way to the porch steps. It was only Mr. Stafford's quick grasp that kept the older man from landing in the dirt.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Mabelle shook her head. "May-girl," her father said, making an attempt to straighten up. "You shouldn't have waited up. We have a full day tomorrow, don't you know."

"Somehow, I doubt that very much," Maybelle said, resisting the urge to reach out and help him. "I suppose I am meant to thank you, Mr. Stafford, for bringing my father home."

Mr. Stafford let out a laugh, though there was an odd seriousness in his eyes. "My pleasure, Miss Maybelle," he said. "It wouldn't have been gentlemanly to leave a friend to find his own way in his state."

With a sigh, Maybelle stepped aside. "Well, bring him in then."

"Don't take that sanctimonious tone with your father," John Edwards said with remarkable clarity. "A man is allowed to have a good time every now and again. Your mother, bless her, understood and she ought to have taught you as much before she ran off."

Stung, Maybelle caught her breath. Her mother was a forbidden subject between them. How much had Daddy had to drink that he would even mention Mama?

"This way, Eddie," Clay Stafford said, raising his voice. "I don't know about you, but I am ready for my bed. And I can't get to mine before you do."

The two men made it up the porch steps and into the cabin. Mabelle remained where she was, though she set the lantern on the porch. Several minutes passed, and Clay Stafford reappeared.

"Your father will be rather worse for wear come morning," he said with a slight laugh. Though Mabelle was sure she had heard him singing along with her father, he now seemed as sober as any other day. "I don't envy him the headache he will have."

"How much did my father lose tonight?" Mabelle asked bluntly.

In the dim light of the moon, she saw the man's face become serious. "More than he ought to have risked."

The worry that has already taken hold of her heart seemed to become a stone in her chest. What had her father risked? "How much?"

"Everything he had on him." For a moment, Clay seemed to hesitate. "And the farm."

Clutching the fragile post, Mabelle sagged against it. "The farm," she repeated, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. Even though John Edwards had been saying it was time to move on, she would never have expected him to do this. "Who owns the deed now?"

"Miss Mabelle, it might be better to discuss this in the morning."

"Who?"

He heaved a sigh. "I do."

Staring at him, the young woman couldn't decide whether that made it worse or not. "I-I see."

"I am more than happy to give it back in the morning when your father sees sense."

Mabelle shook her head and backed toward the door, surprised her legs worked as usual. She knew her father's pride well enough to know one clear fact: he would never take the deed back without winning it back. "Thank you for telling me. Good night, Mr. Stafford."

She made it inside the house and closed the door. Through the shock of hearing the home she had become so fond of had been lost, something else Clay Stafford had said nagged at her mind. What money would her father have had to gamble in the first place?

Her heart sinking, she rushed to her room and from under her bed, she pulled out the lace reticule her mother had left behind. It felt lighter in her hand than she remembered. Before she even opened it, she knew what her father had done.

Over half of everything she had saved was gone.

* * *

With only the slightest headache pounding, Clay shaved the next morning. He was not looking forward to facing Mabelle again. The woman's shock the night before had been uncomfortable, and he guessed she didn't think Edwards would just take the deed back.

What was he supposed to do with a little dirt farm?

When he couldn't think of any reason not to go in for breakfast, Clay started to the house. He was a few yards away and could hear the banging of pots and pans. The smell of coffee and fried pork greeted him when he gathered his courage enough to step inside.

"My father isn't up yet," Mabelle said without looking over. She dropped the coffee pot on the table with a bang. Surprisingly, none of the liquid inside came out the spout. "You'll have to get him up yourself if you want to kick us out."

"I'm not planning on kicking anyone out."

Pausing, Mabelle Edwards looked over at him. Her eyes looked as though they were red-rimmed. Then, she shook her head, and he couldn't be sure of what he thought he'd seen. "And why not? You won this place from him, fair and square." Her eyes narrowed. "Unless you're implying you cheated at the game?"

"That's not what I mean at all," Clay said, mildly amused by the accusation. It seemed to follow him wherever he went. A man with skill at cards was either a lucky bastard or a cheat. "I may have won your farm, but I have no intention of keeping it."

Of course, he was certain no one else who'd been at the card table the night before would have been so generous. As soon as John Edwards had scrawled his farm on a piece of paper to use for his last bet, the only thought in Clay's mind had been to save Mabelle's home for her.

She didn't deserve to lose the one thing she loved, dirt farm or not.

The woman heaved a sigh and dropped her eyes. "And how do you expect to give it back? My father won't just take it from you. In fact, I rather suspect he wanted to be rid of it to go mining for silver." Mabelle turned to the stove where pork was sizzling in the cast iron pan.

Since most of the woman's anger seemed to have subsided, Clay dared to step further into the kitchen. "There must be some way to give it back to you."

"Me?" Mabelle's hands paused for a moment. "You'd just give it to me?"  
"Miss Belle, I didn't come here to get a farm. I'm on my way to—" Clay broke off. Where was he headed?

Thankfully, Mabelle didn't seem to notice his hesitation. "Even if you did give it back, and Daddy let me keep it, what am I supposed to do next?" she asked. "There's no money for seed. No money to invest in cattle or horses for a ranch."

Briefly, Clay thought of just how much money had left Edwards' hands the night before. He should have guessed it had been everything the man and his daughter had managed to save up.

"May, why are you banging things around?" John Edwards demanded as he entered the room. The older man looked worse for wear, his eyes bloodshot. Stubble darkened his chin. "You could raise the dead with the racket you've been making."

"Sorry, Pa," Mabelle said, her tone not a bit contrite. She forked slices of ham from the pan to a plate, carried it to the table, and set it down with as much force as she'd used with the coffee pot. "I hope everyone in town was in good health yesterday."

Her father eyed her with annoyance. "Stafford, sit down already," he said with a grumble. "I know I won't be able to stomach this mess, but someone may as well eat."

Mabelle's cheeks flushed red at the man's thoughtless words. She didn't say another word as she sank into her seat. Calmly, she dished scrambled eggs and ham onto her plate and picked up her fork.

Edwards poured himself a cup of coffee and gulped it down, heedless of how hot the dark liquid was. "I imagine you're eager to see the last of us," he said, once he'd drank it all. "After all, you've got the whole world in front of you."

"No rush," Clay said, spooning food onto his own plate. "I noticed a few of the stalls in the barn could use some tending. If you're going to be doing any kind of ranching—or farming for that matter—you're going to need those areas in good working condition. Can't have any horse, or mule, get injured by a stray nail."

"It's your place now. I don't care what you do with it. May and I will pack up our personal things and get out of your hair." There was no bitterness in Edwards' voice, only a matter-of-factness that set Clay on edge.

To his right, Mabelle tensed, but she held her silence. "Where would you go if you left?" Clay asked. "I have no wish to see two friends of mine turned out with no place to go. You must stay. I insist."

And give him time to figure out how to give the deed back.

"Nonsense. I've been thinking a move is in order, as I believe I've mentioned before. There is wealth being found in the north, and I am of a mind to be a part of it. I may not be as young as I used to be but adventure runs in my blood as strong as ever."

Mabelle stood up and carried her mostly dull plate to the counter that ran along one wall. Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Clay said, "Are you sure? It's not easy for a man on his own."

"Now, Stafford, I know Mabelle is easily overlooked, but she'll look after me well enough."

The thought of Mabelle Edwards in a mining camp with her reckless father as her only protection turned Clay's stomach.

"No, Father, I won't." Mabelle's voice rang out loud and clear, and relief surged through Clay.

Edwards twisted to squint at his daughter. "What?"

"I won't go to Virginia City, or anywhere else, where I would be surrounded by men." Mabelle faced the two men. There was determination written on her face. "Mr. Stafford has already told us of the dangers for a woman there."

"I'm sure if you don't do anything stupid, you'll avoid trouble, May." The man waved his hand. "Where else would you go? We have no family, and I don't think anyone in town thinks so highly of you they would offer you a home."

More than ever, Clay could see the difference between his stepfather, Ben Cartwright, and the man sitting with him at the table. Ben would never intentionally place one of his children in danger. John Edwards, on the other hand, seemed to be implying any harm would be Mabelle's fault.

"Well, the good thing is, there's no need to rush into any decision," Clay said with forced joviality. He rose from the table. "I'll get to work on the barn, Edwards."

Silence followed out the door, but he was sure the father and daughter would have more to say to each other once he was out of earshot. Personally, he hoped Mabelle was smart enough not to let her father change her mind.

••••

As soon as Cley left the house, Mabelle braced herself to face her father alone. To her surprise, he stared at her for a moment and then rose. Grumbling about needing more sleep, John Edwards had shuffled to the bedroom.

Breathing out, Mabelle set about restring her kitchen to order. The thought of being parted from her father frightened her, especially as she didn't know what she would do to support herself without him. All she knew was that nothing good would happen if she followed her father to the mining camps up north.

The thought of how much money her father had stolen from her weighed on her mind all morning. How was she ever going to replace it? There weren't many women in town who needed someone to sew for them. Most every household had their own chickens, so she wouldn't be able to sell her eggs.

Feeling depressed, she stepped out of the house. The bright sunlight and light breeze lifted her moods, but the sound of a hammer pounding in the barn only served to remind her of the predicament she was in.

If Clay left and her father left, would she be able to keep the farm? And if she did take ownership, would she be able to make the farm profitable?

"Anything is possible," she said aloud, hoping it would help bolster her spirits.

Though a part of her wanted to see what exactly their unlikely hired hand was up to in the barn, she forced herself to walk to the garden. It was doing much better than the first year she had put the plants in the ground. She expected to be able to preserve a fair amount of vegetables come fall.

Time passed by quickly as she pulled weeds from around the precious plants. It was only when a shadow fell on her that she looked up.

"Any idea where was your pa planning on working this afternoon?" Clay Stafford asked.

Puzzled, Mabelle sat back on her heels. "I have no idea," she said honestly. She could think of nothing that would coax her father out of doors after he had indulged too much the night before. "He said nothing to me."

"He came and got the mule about two hours ago," Clay informed her.

Dread formed a stone in her stomach. "He did?" Mabelle scrambled to her feet. "Did you see which way he went? Maybe I'll be able to guess if I know the direction he went."  
"I had a particularly difficult nail to deal with, so I wasn't watching."

His words made her stomach twist even more. What... "I think I should go check inside," she said. "Maybe he left a note."

She tried to keep from running, but her steps were so quick she might as well be. "Daddy," she called out as she entered through the front door. Silence greeted her, which was what she had expected. After all, hadn't Clay said her father had gone off on his own?

No note was on the table, so she headed for the bedroom. It was empty. Her father's razor was no longer on the dresser. Her heart squeezing painfully in her chest, Mabelle went to the piece of furniture and pulled the top drawer open.

It was empty.

"Miss Belle?" Clay's voice came from behind her. When had he started calling her 'Belle'? No one had ever called her that before.

"It would seem my father was serious about leaving," Mabelle said, amazed at how steady her voice was even though her emotions were a jumble inside her. She turned to face Clay.

"Just like that? Without a word to you?" the man asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Apparently so."

Clay shook his head. "I'm sorry, Miss Belle." Sincerity rang in his voice.

"It's not your fault. You've been nothing but kindness. " Though Mabelle still wasn't sure how she felt about the man gambling with her father. "I expected him to wait until he had money to—" She broke off as realization hit. "He couldn't have!"

"What?" Clay asked, stepping back to let her go past.

Without answering, Mabelle rushed to her own room. Her small box of treasures where she kept everything important was pulled out and the lid slightly askew. Falling on her knees, she searched the box in a matter of seconds.

Her reticule and whatever of her savings had been left was now gone.

"Miss Belle?"

Taking a deep breath, Mabelle blinked back tears. She should have rehidden the reticule better. If her father had stolen from her once, why wouldn't he do so again? "Well, that explains that," she said, hating the wobble in her voice.

She heard Clay step in. "He took your savings?" he asked in a low voice.

"It wasn't that much. Not after last night." Mabelle closed her box and slid it back into place. She wiped at her face and then used her bed as a support to stand up. "He won't get far on it, I'm sure."

When she faced Clay, silence fell between them. After several long seconds, the man gave a nod. "Well, then, I'll just get back to work," he said. "If you need something, you know where to find me."

"Of course. Thank you."

Mabelle waited until the man retreated and then collapsed onto the bed. Tears stung her eyes. What was she going to do?

* * *

When Mabelle went out for the chores she couldn't ignore, she saw no sign of Clay. As the sun began to set, the man didn't come to the house for the evening meal. Part of Mabelle was grateful for his absence, but she couldn't deny she felt the lack of company.

After a restless night, Mabelle rose at dawn. She brewed herself some coffee and sat at the table to try to work out what she should do. Everything her father had said the previous morning was still true.

How could she have been stupid enough to think her father wouldn't just leave regardless of her feelings on the matter? What was she supposed to do on her own? How was she supposed to survive?

A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts. Hastily, Mabelle rubbed at her eyes to hide any tears that had begun to form against her will. She rose and hurried to the kitchen door. A wave of relief swept over her when she opened it to find Clay there.

"Miss Belle," he said, his hat in his right hand. His left hand, however, was holding a young boy in place. "This is Ronny. He has something he would like to say to you."

"Sorry, miss," the boy mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.

Puzzled, Mabelle looked to Clay. "Ronny and a few of his friends have been terrorizing your chickens, but they have come to realize the error of their ways," the man said succinctly. "To make up for it, Ronny is here to help around the farm."

Her chickens...To be honest, Mabelle hadn't given the fowls a moments thought as to whether they still belonged to her or not. "I see."

"Head to the corral and start fixing the fence," Clay said to the boy. "We don't have much time before the cattle arrive, and we need a place to put them when they get here."  
Confused, Mabelle stared as the boy hurried away and Clay faced her again. "What's going on, Clay?" she asked. "What cattle?"

"The cattle that we will use to turn this from a struggling to farm to a working ranch."

"How—where did you get cattle?"

The man grinned at her. "I made the acquaintance of a small rancher about twenty miles from here. We had a friendly game of cards and in lieu of cash for what he owed me, he signed over thirty head of cattle."

"Thirty head?" Mabelle couldn't decide what to think. Was thirty head a good number? How much was money was thirty head worth? How much had Clay been owned? How had Clay found such a rancher?

Clay nodded. "Since that is a rather small start, I found another rancher who was looking to send his son to a fancy college back east and bought another forty head of cattle from him."

Dumbfounded, Mabelle shook her head. "Why?"

"The way I have things figured, Miss Belle, you and I have become partners in this things. At least until things smooth out and you can manage on your own. I had the money to provide the stock, and you have the land."

His matter-of-fact tone did nothing to make the situation any more clear for her. "But I _don't_ have the land. That's what started this whole thing in the first place."

"In my mind, I'm just holding on to it for you. Until we can be sure any improvements we make won't be for nothing if your father decides he's had enough of mining." Clay's tone became serious. "I would hate to have just given you back the deed only to have your father return and sell it out from under you. Again."

"I—see." At least that part made sense. Mabelle could see her father doing something of that nature. "But I still don't see that I have anything to contribute to this 'partnership', as you called it."

A flash of concern moved across Clay's face. "Someone has to be the brains of the operation, don't they? If I've learned anything over the years, it's that the smartest of the sexes is the lady." He set his hat back on his head. "I'd better show Ronny which end of a hammer he's supposed to use before he ends up making things more of a mess."

And with that, Clay was off the porch. Breathing out, Mabelle leaned against the doorframe. "Good heavens," she said as she watched him go to the corral. "I do believe he's serious."

She shook her head, trying to take it all in. She'd been fascinated by the idea of transforming the farm into a ranch but hadn't thought it would ever come about. Especially not with her father running off. But here Clay had taken matters into his own hands.

"However does he think I can help with this?" she wondered aloud. She watched as Clay righted a fallen piece of the corral, and Ronny ran for hammer and nails. "I can at least make sure they eat."

* * *

It took two days of hard work to get the farmyard ready for the arrival of cattle. From dawn to dusk, Clay worked with Ronny strengthening fence posts. The tiny tack room in the barn needed to be straightened.

When the small herd was delivered, Clay directed them to the east pasture. There was plenty of grass for grazing, and the fence was strong enough to keep the cattle from wandering off. But, they all had the brand of their former owners, which would have to be rectified soon.

With one foot on the porch step, Clay paused as he heard Mabelle singing in the kitchen. It had to be the first time he'd ever heard the woman sound so happy. She'd always been positive in the face of her father's negative and wild ways, but this was something else entirely.

" _Call up your men, dilly, dilly  
Set them to work  
Some to the plow, dilly dilly  
Some to the cart_

 _Some to make hay, dilly dilly  
Some to cut corn  
While you and I, dilly dilly  
Keep ourselves warm"_

Mabelle had kept the two workers well supplied with food and water while they'd worked. She'd even helped hold fence boards in place while Clay pounded the nails in. Having seen her at work under her father's direction, Clay had to admit he hadn't expected her to be so enthusiastic about the endeavor

" _Lavender's green, dilly dilly  
Lavender's blue  
If you love me, dilly dilly  
I will love you_

 _Lavender's blue, dilly dilly  
Lavender's green  
When I am queen, dilly dilly  
You shall be king"_

She broke off from singing the lyrics of the old song and began to hum the melody. For some reason, Clay was reminded of his mother. His memories of his mother were hazy at best, but he _knew_ she had enjoyed singing.

"Was there something you need, Clay?"

Startled, Clay looked up to find Mabelle at the door, drying her hands on her apron. "I...I was just coming to tell you we have the cattle in the east pasture," he managed to say.

"Oh, good," she said with a smile. Concern appeared a moment later. "What about the field we plowed? The cattle won't get into that, will they?"

Clay shook his head, still trying to clear his thoughts. "Ronny and I reinforced the fence along there. The cattle won't get through unless something stampedes them."

"Oh, good. I would hate to hear one of them had been injured by breaking a leg in one of those awful ruts." Mabelle waited a moment longer before tilting her head. "Was there something else you needed?"

For a moment, Clay's mind was blank. What else had he intended to discuss with her? "Right. We haven't discussed what you plan to call your ranch," he said, remembering in a flash. "We'll have to rebrand the cattle with whatever brand we come up with."

"Do you have any suggestions?" she asked.

"Well, if it were my ranch, I would do something like The Tilted S, or Bar S, or something along those lines," Clay said with a grin. "You don't want to make it easy for someone else to cover over your brand if rustlers were to come through."

With a slight frown, Mabelle nodded her understanding. "I think any variation with an 'E' would be easy to cover over," she said, her tone thoughtful. She let out a slight laugh. "I honestly have no idea what would be a good ranch name though I do like the sound of The Tilted S. And since you're the main partner in this operation, it seems only right."

A chill went down Clay's spine. How long did she expect him to stick around? How long did _he_ plan to stay? "Miss Belle, surely you know I'm doing this all for you. My name doesn't need to come into it."

"If you're doing it for me, then you'll do as I say. The Tilted S, it is." Mabelle wagged her finger at him. "And let's have no more talk about it."

Her attempt to sound like a strict elderly woman made Clay burst out laughing. He made a deep bow. "As you command, my lady." When he straightened, he couldn't think of anything else to say, so he replaced his hat on his head. "I'll let you get back to work."

"Clay." Mabelle's voice was hesitant. She smoothed down her apron. "In a week, there's going to be a wedding in town. I...Well, I was wondering if you would attend it and the party afterward."

For a moment, Clay stared at her. "I thought it was the gentleman's job to do the asking," he said.

"That would be hard to do if you didn't know about the wedding," Mabelle said with a smile. "And besides, I only asked if you would go, not whether you would attend it specifically...with me." She shook her head. "Nevermind. Forget I asked. I know you're going to be busy with everything here."

"Miss Belle, it would be my absolute honor to escort you to this wedding."

Her eyes lit up. "Ok, then," she said softly.

Again, silence stretched between them as they smiled at each other. "I should...get back," Clay finally said with a start.

"Oh, no, my cookies!" Mabelle exclaimed. She spun and rushed back inside the house.

Breathing out, Clay resettled his hat, amazed at the amount of sweat that had collected on his forehead. "It's just a dance," he said to himself. "It means nothing. You've gone to plenty of dances before with countless girls. This one is no different."

But, somehow, it was.

* * *

 _What did I do? Why did I even bring it up?_ As the afternoon sun began to slide towards the horizon, Mabelle wondered over and over why she'd even mentioned the wedding to Clay. He wouldn't have said he'd take her if he didn't mean it, would he?

She warmed up enough water to scrub her skin clean, and she brushed out her hair. Mabelle turned to where the dress she had spent most of the week altering was spread on her bed. It had once belonged to her mother, and Mabelle loved the dark blue color of the fabric, even it was as old as she was.

Breathing out, she slipped it over her head and worked all the buttons up the back. She smoothed the fabric and turned towards the mirror. With her hair loose, she didn't recognize her reflection.

Of course, she couldn't leave her hair down, so Mabelle set about braiding and pinning. Just as she was finishing, there was a respectful knock on the front door. Grabbing her knitted shawl and the worn reticule, she hurried to the porch.

When she opened the door, Clay was waiting with his back to her. He wore a bright white shirt—had he bought a new one for the occasion?—and his hat was in his hands. Mabelle cleared her throat to get his attention and he spun around.

"Well, Miss Belle," he said, his eyes widening. "Don't you look...Why I'm going to be the envy of every man with sense."

"Certainly not the groom, though!" Mabelle protested, even as she flushed with delight.

"Maybe, maybe not. He's made his choice." Clay held his arm out to her. "Your chariot awaits."

As she placed her hand on his elbow, Mabelle had a flash of worry. She hadn't thought about _how_ they would get to the wedding. Since her father took the donkey, she'd only had the option of walking if she wanted to leave the farm-turned-ranch. Clay had his horse, of course, but surely he wouldn't have tried to hitch his stallion to a wagon!

Before she could voice her concern, Mabelle's gaze landed on a pair of unremarkable brown horses hitched to a wagon she'd never seen. "Clay," she breathed out. "Where did this come from?"

"A ranch needs a reliable wagon, and something to pull it," Clay said as he steered her toward it. "The wagon's not new, but it's sturdy, and the horses are mature and know what they're about."

"How did you ever afford this?"

Clay's eyes shifted to the side. "Their former owner paid a debt with them."

"What kind of a debt?" Mabelle asked, even though she had a good idea.

"Miss Belle, it was an honest game, and you can't deny we needed the wagon and the horses," Clay said, his tone firm.

He was right, but Mabelle couldn't shake the feeling that while the game had been honest, Clay had chosen who he played it with very carefully. She shook her head and reached to climb up. "I'm beginning to think I should have thought of a more appropriate name for this place," she said. Clay's hand around her waist to help her up took her breath away. "Oh."

"What do you mean?" Clay asked, waiting to make sure she moved to the far side and was settled before he climbed up.

"Surely there has to be a way to say 'won in a game' for everything."

"That would make a mighty long mark," Clay said, taking the reins in his hand. He released the brake and set the wagon rolling.

As her shoulder brushed against Clay's, Mabelle again wondered at her sanity. After all, hadn't the man said he was on his way somewhere? He'd stayed, no doubt out of guilt or some such thing, and was making sure she was alright. But what would happen if he decided she didn't need him?

The thought made her pause. Did she need him? Or was it more, she _wanted_ him there?

"You're quiet this afternoon," Clay commented, breaking through her thoughts. "Everything alright?"

There was a note of concern in his voice. "Everything's fine," Mabelle said, leaning against his arm. She would just have to take each day as it came, and if the day came where he moved on just like her father had...well, she'd deal with it then. "Do you think the weather will stay nice until tonight?"

"You think it won't?" Clay asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Do you see the trees?" Mabelle said, pointing to the closest oak. "The backs of the leaves are showing. It might be just an old wives' tale, but I always heard that means rain in the next twenty-four hours."

"Well, we'll keep an eye on the sky."

* * *

The wedding went by without a hitch. Clay applauded with all the other guests, though he didn't know the bride or the groom. Mabelle's delight with the occasion was obvious, and the glow in her cheeks only added to her beauty.

After the ceremony, the party moved to the yard where the townswomen had a feast spread. Meals on Mabelle's new ranch had been a bit sparse, even if they were filling, so Clay was set on enjoying every bite. With amusement, he realized his escort must have had the same idea because she filled her plate to overflowing more than once.

Filling Mabelle's pantry with more than just salt pork and potatoes was on Clay's to-do list. He just hadn't worked out a way he could do it without her protesting and refusing. They hadn't starved yet, so he decided to take his time.

More than once, he noticed glances in their direction and saw how the matrons whispered behind their hands. With Edwards long gone, no doubt several were wondering just what kind of relationship he had with the remaining woman. Suspicion and gossip were always quick to spread, which he knew well enough.

"I wish they would stop that," Mabelle whispered after she finished off her slice of cherry pie. Most of the other guests had long finished and had begun dancing. "Hasn't a woman ever had a hired hand on her property?"

Was that the only way she thought of him? If so, why had she brought up the wedding? Did she just want a way to get to town?

"I reckon they're just jealous of how pretty you are in that dress, Miss Belle," Clay told her, ignoring his doubts and questions for the moment.

Mabelle's cheeks became crimson. "No one has ever said I was pretty. And why do you keep calling me that? Most people call me May if they want to shorten my name."

"Well, I must have told you I was raised in New Orleans. French is practically a second language down there." Clay watched as the woman frowned, not getting what he was hinting at. "Belle means beautiful, and I think it is the perfect thing to call you."

Again, Mabelle's cheeks became rosy. "Now you're just trying to flatter me."

"You are, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the privilege of knowing," Clay said with slow deliberateness. "Any man who has ever said otherwise is a fool and ought to have his head examined."

He glanced over to the dancing and noted the change in the song. Clay stood up and held his hand out. "And it would give me the greatest pleasure if you would dance with me, Miss Belle."

Mabelle put her hand in his and stood up. Clay led her out to the middle of the dance floor. With her right hand in his left and his right hand at her waist, he led her into the first step of the waltz. The woman followed his lead with a gracefulness Clay always knew she possessed.

"I think everyone is staring at us again," Mabelle said softly.

"Let them," Clay said, sending a glare at a gawker over his partner's head. The man scurried out of sight. "They ought to know better, or their mother's never taught them right from wrong."

The woman let out a laugh. "Mr. Stafford, I am beginning to think you are going to be terrible for my reputation."

When the waltz ended, Clay tried not to be offended when another man asked Mabelle to dance. He went to the edge of the barn and watched as the woman danced the next three dances with different men. He couldn't keep from clenching his fists.

"...think it is abominable. She's no better than she ought to be, living out there on that farm with no family." A stern matron's voice caught Clay's attention. "What kind of girl refuses to travel with her own father?"

"She's always been a decent girl, Mother," a younger woman said in answer. "Miss Edwards has had a hard time of it, you know. No doubt she is doing the best she can in the circumstances."

Knowing it would be useless—and would probably make things worth—to try to defend Mabelle's reputation, Clay spun on his heel and left the barn. He wondered what Joe would say if he were there. Probably that he was an idiot.

Oddly, he hadn't thought about his younger, half-brother in awhile. Clay had been so busy lately, he hadn't had time to remember breaking ties with Joe. Was that a good thing, or should he be worried?

The sky had darkened and a cool breeze hit Clay's face. He narrowed his eyes as he stared at the horizon. Yes, the sun had gone down, but the stars and moon were also hidden by dark clouds in the sky. The storm Mabelle had worried about earlier was moving in.

"Clay? Is something wrong?" the young woman's voice broke the silence.

"I think we should get back," Clay said, turning toward her. "We don't want to get caught in the storm."

* * *

As quickly as possible, Mabelle said farewell to the newlyweds and the bride's family. She pulled her shawl around her shoulders and hurried for the wagon Clay had waiting. As they drove away from the wedding reception, she could hear everyone else rushing to get to their homes.

Overhead, lightning flashed in the sky and the wind picked up. "A shame the wedding had to end like this," Mabelle commented, clinging to the wagon seat to keep her balance. They were definately going back faster than they'd come.

"I suppose they hoped it would be just like any other day," Clay said, glancing over at her with a brief grin. Thunder rumbled. "No one can predict what the weather is going to be like that far in advance."

"Except when an old wives' tale says to watch for rain," Mabelle reminded him. A fat raindrop hit her face, making her wrinkle her nose. If she didn't end up completely soaked, it would be a miracle.

"Even so, plans that far in advance always take a risk that the weather won't cooperate."

The rain began in earnest as they reached the edge of the farm. "You get inside," Clay said, having to raise his voice over the howl of the wind and the crack of thunder. He brought the wagon to a stop a yard from the porch. "I'll make sure everything is alright out here."

"Be careful," Mabelle told him before she scrambled down. Her skirt clung to her legs and hampered her every movement. She made it into the house, and immediately ran for pots to catch the water coming in from leaks she hadn't realized were in the roof.

She lit several lamps, trying not to shiver as she heard the storm rage outside. Mabelle grabbed a towel and wrung water from her hair. Still, Clay hadn't come in. She considered grabbing a dry dress from her wardrobe, but decided to wait until she was certain she wouldn't have to go out in the storm again.

The door was flung open and a slim figure came stumbling in. "Ronny!" Mabelle exclaimed as the boy closed the door behind himself. "What are you doing here? I thought you would have been home with your parents by now."

"Mr. Clay asked me to keep an eye on everything while you were gone," Ronny answered, brushing water from his face.

"Is Mr. Clay coming in? Was he behind you?"

Ronny shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. The wind was tearing pieces off the barn. He wanted to make sure the animals were alright."

Surely, he didn't think his own life was worth less than the animals. Mabelle felt the next rumble of thunder shake the house, or was it the wind? She couldn't be sure, but either way she didn't like it. Didn't like what it could mean to the integrity of the house. Didn't like that Clay was out in it.

"I have to get him inside," she said slowly. She started to reach for her shawl, but realized in time how useless it would be. "I'll be back, Ronny."

"You're not going out there!" the boy exclaimed in protest. "You can't! You'll get blown away!"

Ignoring his protest, Mabelle opened the door, cringing against the cold rain that hit her face. She plunged into the darkness, pulling the door closed behind her. "Clay!" she shouted, unsure whether she would be heard. "Clay!"

A flash of lightning showed the way to the barn. Limbs from trees were already scattered across the yard. Shivering, Mabelle stepped off the porch and started across to the barn. A blast of wind nearly knocked her off her feet and she stumbled through the mud. By the time she made it to the barn door, she was exhausted, soaked, and dirty.

Before she could open the door, however, another flash of lightning revealed a figure struggling at the corral. "Clay!" Mabelle shouted. She pushed away from the barn and struggled toward the corral. "Clay!"

Finally, when she was a few yards from him, Clay turned around. "Mabelle! What are you doing out here?" he demanded, dropping the fence rail he'd been struggling with. Inside the corral, the cattle were milling about in fear. "Go back inside."

"Not without you. It's not safe out here!"

"Once I know the fence is secure." Clay ran his hand over his face ina useless action to get the rain out of his eyes. His hat was missing, whether blown away or stowed safely in the barn Mabelle didn't know. "We can't lose the stock. We'll never recover."

He was risking his life for a bunch of cattle? Mabelle grabbed his arm. "It's not worth your life," she said, pulling firmly. "Whatever happens, we'll survive."

That was the one thing she learned from her father was how to survive. If they lost the farm turned ranch because the storm drove the cattle away, then there would be something else they could do, wasn't there? But if Clay died trying to save it, where would that leave her? Alone with no idea what she would do with the animals.

"I have to do what I can," Clay protested. "Go back in."

"I go in when you go in." Mabelle's determined words lost some effect when a gust of wind hit her. "Clay, we have to go. Please."

For a moment, she thought the man would fight some more. Then, his shoulders slumped. "Alright." He stepped closer and put his arm around her. Together, they hurried towards the house, Mabelle stumbling many times because of her clinging skirt.

"I didn't think you'd ever make it back," Ronny declared when he let them.

Breathing heavily, Clay collapsed into a chair, water dripping everywhere. "I knew I should have replaced the entire fence," he said. "None of it will hold against a head of riled up cattle."

"Then, if they get out, we will find them in the morning," Mabelle said calmly. Though the wind continued to howl and the thunder shook the entire house, she felt less panicked now that Clay was safely in the house. "I'll see if I can find some dry clothes you can change in to."

* * *

Several hours past midnight, the storm outside seemed to calm a little. At least, Clay didn't think the house was going to get blown down. Mabelle had found some old trousers and shirt that had belonged to her father, so at least he was dry.

Ronny had fallen asleep, his head cradled in his arms on the table. Without a word, Mabelle set a cup of fresh, hot coffee in front of him and then sat down herself.

"It won't be easy to get things back up to speed," he said seriously. He kept to himself that there might be a few card games he could join, but there weren't that many desperate ranchers looking to get out of their profession.

"We don't even know the damage yet," Mabelle said with a slight smile. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

"You're awful cheerful about this whole thing." Clay didn't know how she could be, unless she didn't realize just how much they could have lost in the storm.

"Tragedy can hit at any moment, Clay, and sometimes there's nothing we can do about it. The only thing we can control is how we react to it." Mabelle sipped her coffee and offered a slight smile. "How else do you think I survived getting dragged from one farfetched scheme of my father's to another even crazier plan?"

"You're a better person than me." It was something Clay had known soon after meeting the young woman. She was too good for the life her father had given her. She deserved the kind of life Clay had grown up with in new orleans, the one he couldn't give her.

"You never talk about your family," Mabelle commented. "Do you have one?"

Why, Clay couldn't be sure, but he told her. He explained about leaving New Orleans when he learned his mother hadn't died as he'd been told. He smiled as he remembered meeting his younger, half-brother for the first time. He even told her about how he had left Joe behind, certain his brother was better off without him.

At some point, Mabelle reached over and laced her fingers with his. "You can always go back," she said softly. "Virginia City is not that far."

"And leave you without any help?" Clay shook his head. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

Some tension Clay hadn't realized was there eased in the woman's face. "I think you're the one who saddled himself with me," Mabelle said with a slight laugh. She heaved a sigh. "At least you know where he is. I don't even know what's become of Daddy. Did he make it to the gold fields? Or did something else catch his fancy on the way?"

There was a note of longing in her voice, and Clay guessed she wondered if her father even missed her. If he wasn't a total fool, Edwards would realize what he walked away from. "Well, I'm not planning on going anywhere," he said, squeezing her fingers.

Ronny uttered a groan and Mabelle straightened up, pulling her hand free. "Well, I should get some rest. Do you want a blanket or anything?"

"No," Clay said, puzzled by her sudden reticence. "Sleep well."

Mabelle nodded and stood up. She hurried out of view, and the sound of a door closing could be heard a few moments later.

Drumming his fingers on the side of his cup, Clay thought back. The evening had been going so well before the storm hit. Mabelle fit in his arms like she was made for him. Did she feel the connection too? He supposed him saying he was staying wouldn't have sounded like much after he'd just told her about his wanderings. Maybe she didn't think she cold trust him?

"Idiot," Clay muttered.

Well, there was just one way to prove he was serious. He might have given away the picture of his mother, but there was something else he'd never dared gamble with. Maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

* * *

When Mabelle woke at dawn, she could feel exhaustion hanging on her even though she'd managed to get a few hours of sleep. She hadn't bothered to change into a nightgown, but crawled under her quilt in her dress.

Although she treasured the confidences Clay had shared the night before, she wasn't sure what to think. He said he wasn't going anywhere, but surely he realized they wouldn't be able to continue on as they had. Not when the town was gossiping about them already.

Sighing, Mabelle untangled her hair and braided it. "I can face whatever comes my way," she said, checking her appearance in her small mirror. She wrinkled her nose at the dark circles under her eyes, but there was nothing to be done. The day had started and there were things to do.

She stepped into the kitchen and had to smile when she saw that Ronny had been moved—probably Clay's doing—from the table to the floor, his head cushioned by a jacket. Clay wasn't there, so Mabelle walked to the door and stepped outside. The scene took her breath away.

Boards—from the house or the barn?—were spread across the yard, along with branches and leaves. The barn door was hanging lopsided. Clay was at the bottom of the steps, his hat back on his head.

"The cattle?" Mabelle finally dared to ask.

"Most of them seem to be where I left them," Clay said, turning to face her. "You were right. The damage isn't as bad as I expected."

A light rain was still falling, and the gray sky made everything look gloomy. "Really? Because it looks awful out here."

"Now that's not the cheerful way to look at things," Clay said, looking up at her.

"I just woke up, Give me a minute or two to take it all in."

Mabelle let her gaze wander to where the corral fence still held and the cattle made their hunger known. Any grass that was there had probably been beaten into the mud, poor things. Clay's hand caught hers, making her jump.

"I meant what I said last night, Mabelle," he said, once again using her full name instead of the Miss Belle he'd taken to calling her. "Unless you tell me to pack up and leave, I'm not abandoning you."

Her breath caught in her throat and tears stung her eyes. Did he mean what she thought his words implied. "Clay..."

"I don't have much, just my brain and muscle and a whole lot of things I regret in my past," Clay continued, holding her gaze in earnest. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and I love you. I love the way you make me smile, the way you look for the positive, and the way you plow a field."

Mabelle's cheeks heated up. "That's a terrible thing to love!"

"If you'll have me, I'd like to marry you." Clay dug in his pocket and pulled out a small velvet bag. "This belonged to my grandmother, and really isn't the kind of thing I image she liked, but I'd like you to wear it."

The simple gold band fell out of the bag into Mabelle's palm. For a moment, all she could do was stare at it and think just how much she wished she'd changed into a better dress before she left her room.

"So? Will you have me?" A note of worry crept into Clay's voice.

Tearing her gaze away from the ring, Mabelle nodded, meeting his gaze. "Of course, you idiot," she said, her voice catching. "I know better than to let a good thing get away."

A grin breaking out on his face, Clay took the ring and slipped it on her finger. It was a little big, but since in the next second Clay was kissing her, Mabelle decided it didn't matter.

Together, they could do anything.


End file.
